The Lion's Jaws
by Thagguy
Summary: "I am a guardian, Sir Ornstein, as art ye. Delusions hold no place for us, for what do we guard without the truth?"


Atop a tall pine, a golden figure stood balanced on the branches. Though the tree swayed in the wind, the watcher's footing was as sure as if he stood upon the ground.

There was a new scent in the forest. The smell of death was always present, but that was a sweet, pleasant odor. Death in a forest was only a change in a cycle, for new life is born and grows of the death of the old. Even when the empty bones of the dead were sent down to the Dead Lord's tomb to see new use as Nito's servants, their flesh and souls were first given to the living, so that their deaths would see to the betterment of those left behind.

This was a smell of death that bore no life. This was a death that sat final and cold in the air. This was a death with no promise of a future, a death consisting of nothing but itself. It was like a fire without heat, light without illumination, lightning without electricity.

Before him spread the forest of Oolacile, a vassal kingdom of Lordran. Nestled at the base of the mountain Anor Londo stood atop, it was a land of peaceful magic and quiet commerce. Its forests were the source of most of the kingdom's timber, and its ports on the river the gateway from the Mountain of the Sun to the world beyond. It was also a land of mysterious magic; sorcery derived not from the Duke's, but of a different sort- deceptive magic that fooled the senses and the mind. The Hidden Kingdom, it was sometimes called, for all the mysteries it held within its tall towers and narrow, winding streets.

Normally, the forest would be patrolled by the massive stone sentinels, and the underbrush tended by animate trees tamed by the magic of the city's sorcerers and its caretaker, the cat-Goddess Alvina. The _snip-_snip of gardeners at work and the steady, rhythmic pounding of stone golems tirelessly patrolling the woods was absent. Now, the forest was quiet. Guardians and gardeners alike had been recalled to defend the outskirts of the city. Already, their absence was beginning to be seen in the new shoots of fast growing plant life that would soon turn the forest floor into an impassable thicket. Few birds sang, and those that did sung short, clipped songs, as if the wildlife itself could sense something was amiss.

The buildings of Oolacile normally towered high above the forest canopy. Now, the only remains of the city's skyline was the enormous coliseum and a smaller outbuilding nearby. In the smaller building, between its pillars, the man in the golden armor could see a Giant sitting on the floor. He wore armor of steel bands and Dragonbone, and his hands moved in short motions on something the watcher couldn't see.

The coliseum was in a worse state. It leaned very slightly to one side, towards the conspicuous absence where the rest of the city should be. A large section of the top structure had broken off. Of what remained, there was a strange, dark purplish blue discoloration, as if the building had bruised from a hammer blow. If one watched very closely, it could be seen moving very slowly, writing and squirming, covering the stonework like an advancing glacier.

"The Abyss is a plague most foul," said a raspy voice to the figure's side. As he was currently standing on top of the tallest tree in the area, this was somewhat of an oddity. He turned his head, encased in a helm shaped like a golden lion, to look at the speaker then forward again.

An enormous white-and-grey cat with coarse, scraggly fur and a grinning alligator's mouth sat on his shoulder, its four paws perched confidently on the tip of an ornamental spine with the same casual grace as the golden figure stood on the tree.

"Yes," said the man in a voice that crackled like thunder and boomed like the roar of the lion his helm was sculpted to resemble, "we should have sent more than Artorias and his wolf."

The cat snorted. "So that they could fall to the Abyss as well? Artorias had greater force of will then you, Ornstein, and still he fell to the Dark. Gough does well to cower in that prison, bow rotting in the rain, whittling at his carvings while Oolacile sinks and the Black Dragon flies free."

The figure turned to look at the cat again, this time so quickly that the blood-red tassel on his helmet swung impressively.

"It is not your place to mock the Knights, Alvina."

With a harsh, yowling laugh, the cat turned to smoke and gently floated against the wind to a nearby treetop, where the smoke turned again to fur and flesh. Ornstein had neither felt the cat materialize on his shoulder, nor her leaving it, in the same way the branch she chose as her new perch didn't bend to any weight.

"If that art not my place, then what is? I am a guardian, Sir Ornstein, as art ye. Delusions hold no place for us, for what do we guard without the truth? Offense, this I do not deny for the sake of thy pride, Dragonslayer. "

"But you take pleasure in it," Ornstein said.

"Oh, and hear the Captain of the Four Knights whine like a petulant child! You frown at the needle, but it is red blood that cometh from the prick, and the lion bristles at the yowling of a cat!"

The Dragonslayer grunted, and stepped off his branch. He plummeted to the ground, and despite his great hight-twice that of a normal man-landed with only a slight rustle of disturbed leaves. It was a height that would shatter the legs of a human, but he only adjusted the grip on his spear and gave the surrounding trees a casual glance. He began to walk with a purposeful stride, his spear held upright in gold-wrapped fingers. The cat's fog travelled down from the treetops behind him, and solidified again mid-trot.

"But now there are more pressing matters than your opinions of my men, Gardener."

"Quite," said the cat. "Oolacile is lost. Of that there is no doubt; the blight hath spread too far. Most of the city hath already fallen into the Abyss. The King is dead, and Princess Dusk hath been captured by what creatures lie in the Deep."

Ornstein said nothing; only continued to walk.

"Perhaps you know not the significance of this," Alvina said, "Princess Dusk can travel the maze of time freely. For her, time be not knotted, but a simple fabric; where others see an impossible snarl, she cuts though to where she may wish."

Ornstein stopped walking. The leather on the palms of his gauntlets creaked as his grip tightened on his spear. Sparks of electricity danced around his spear and between the lion's teeth of his visor.

"This beast has that intelligence?" Ornstein asked, mind swimming with the implications.

The cat shrugged, somehow. "In truth, I know not. It is only circumstantial inferences, but sound they seem."

Though Alvina couldn't see it, Ornstein nodded inside his helm. "Then I must succeed where Artorias failed."

Instantly, his vision was filled with a snarling feline. This time, he felt a great weight hang off his shoulders where Alvina had anchored herself.

"You great fool, hath you heard nothing? Doth the crackle of thy lightning fill thine ears so that no words penetrate? I witnessed the follow of Artorias' advance into the Abyss and into the Chasm that holds its heart. He never made it to the monster- consumed by shades of Humanity, his Soul poisoned by the Dark of the Abyss. His pendant of silver repelled the beasts that arose in New Londo, but it was a child's trinket to the foulness here. Thy light is quick and thine soul bright, Dragonslayer, but you fight _Dragons_. A Dragon does not invade thy Soul and body to turn it against the mind; a Dragon does not make you one with at as does the Abyss."

Alvina faded to mist, and reappeared again on the ground, crouching low. Despite the dreat disrespect she had shown him, Ornstein made no move against her. He knew it would be pointless to assault the cat. "Thine enemies art not these, Ornstein. If you enter the Abyss, you shall become its slave, more deeply than Artorias. You will not even so make it to where he left the pup."

"I am Captain of the Four Knights. The Spear of the Sun. And you would have me do nothing against this threat?"

For a long time, Alvina stared at the golden-armored Dragonslayer.

"The slayer of the Father of the Abyss cannot be a God or a Giant. His death must come at the hand of one his own descendants. As the Gods fought the Dragons, so must the humans fight the Abyss. What you must do is to avenge your compatriot- finish the death the Abyss left so incomplete."

And with that, Alvina faded into mist and did not return.


End file.
